


Feared and Loathsome

by CooPigeonCoo



Series: Quoted Quotables [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy is the fandom bicycle and I love it, Darcyland, F/M, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 08:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12008652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CooPigeonCoo/pseuds/CooPigeonCoo
Summary: “Darcy, this isn't open to debate.  Gotham is the last stop on my lecture tour.  Specifically, this is the speaking engagement that's being bankrolled by billionaires paying one thousand dollars a plate and funding my research for the rest of the year,” Jane huffed.“But we can't stop here, this is Bat Country!”





	Feared and Loathsome

“Darcy-”

“No, Jane.”

“Darcy, this isn't open to debate. This is the last stop on my lecture tour. Specifically, this is the speaking engagement that's being bankrolled by billionaires paying one thousand dollars a plate and funding my research for the rest of the year,” Jane huffed.

Darcy knew that. She did. And she appreciated that Gotham City was full of people who were looking for any reason to chuck money around in a never ending show of one-upmanship. And she definitely appreciated that they wanted the spectacle of ogling Thor’s girlfriend enough to foot the bill for meals and a stay in one of swankiest hotels in the city. 

After weeks of crashing in discount motels and the back of the van when they had to decide between meals or lodging, Darcy’s back and hips were weeping with joy at the thought of sleeping in a bed that wasn't attached to a Magic Fingers machine. Vibrating beds had quickly lost their novelty the second night of their road trip when the mechanism didn't turn off fully and Darcy woke up every hour motion sick and vomiting.  
But there were so many reasons that stopping in Gotham city was a terrible idea that even the promise of a top quality bed didn't make it a worthwhile deal for Darcy.

“Jane, I hear your words. But this city is certifiably the worst. The number of clowns per capita is ridiculous. Clowns, Jane. Clowns,” Darcy pleaded, sparing a glance to her friend in the passenger seat. Judging by Jane’s stony expression Darcy’s argument wasn't swaying her. 

“Alright. If you’re actually cool with the clowns, which I know you aren't really because absolutely no one alive is, then what about the man eating Crocodile Man?”

“Well, I guess if you’re that worried about the Crocodile Man we’ll cancel the sewer tours we were totally going to take,” Jane said crossly. 

“The murder rate? The weekly prison breaks? Literally all of the Mafia? Seriously, so much Mafia.”

“Just do your best to not get murdered by escaped convicts and we’ll eat Thai to avoid any Mafia backed Italian restaurants.” 

Growing increasingly desperate Darcy decided to pull the ace out of her sleeve:

“We can't stop here, this is Bat Country!”

One look at Jane’s face let Darcy know her patience with her was evaporating quickly. Darcy took a fortifying deep breath, shifted the massive van into drive and signaled to enter back onto the highway. She slammed her foot firmly onto the accelerator and ignored the protesting honks from the other drivers as the van’s exhaust spewed out a plume of thick black smoke. 

“I just want you to know,” Darcy began as she turned onto the off ramp for Gotham City “that I will find none of my usual joy from gloating about how right I was when we're held hostage by escaped convict clowns or eaten by an Italian Crocodile Man.”

 

\---------

 

Darcy knew Jane could feel her stare piercing through her skull by her stiff posture and the ‘accidentally used spoiled milk on my cereal and didn't realize it until I took a huge bite’ look on her face. Most people would write it off as showing distaste for their current situation, but Darcy had studied Jane and decoded the subtleties of her body language long ago. And right now Dr. Jane Foster was trying to cope with the thing she hated most: being wrong. The crease between Jane’s eyebrows deepened as one of their clown masked captors wandered close to them on his circuit of the room.

The evening had started off spectacularly; the duo had been stuffed their faces with every hors d'oeuvres that crossed their path as they wove their way through the crowds with practiced ease thanks to numerous Avengers benefits Jane was encouraged to attend. And since Jane firmly believed that misery enjoys company she dragged Darcy along to keep her company while Thor posed for pictures with his teammates and autographed toy replicas of Mjölnir.

After the cocktail hour the guests were directed to find their seats and thousand dollar plates while Darcy made the much more valuable discovery of an open section of wall near where the liquor was being poured. While mildly put out they wouldn't pour shots she was thankful for any sort of drink that might help calm her nerves and the feeling of disquiet that was lodged somewhere between her belly and lungs.

She took a sip of her Old Fashioned and leaned into the wall to watch her boss work. Darcy loved watching Jane give speeches. Jane was typically a woman of few words, finding it more important to internally critique her statements before speaking instead of spewing out every passing thought like Darcy was prone to do. 

But Jane underwent some sort of transformation when she stepped behind a lectern, drawing on her cloak of academia and becoming this glowing beacon of knowledge you couldn't take your eyes off. Which was fortunate because her current topic, the importance of variable star readings and how the fluctuations are likely more important than the scientific community believed was a rather bland topic, even with incredible PowerPoint Darcy put together adding a healthy dose of pizzazz. 

She was so transfixed by Jane she somehow managed to miss the absolute mountain of a man who sidled up beside her. He cleared his throat politely, breaking Darcy out of Jane’s thrall. Always the paragon of class and decorum, Darcy let out an inelegant squeak and spit her mouthful of bourbon back into her cup. Mostly. The rest ran down her chest and into her cleavage because that's how it goes when your torso is as topographical as Darcy’s. She shot the man an unamused look as she fanned an open hand over her chest in an attempt to dry herself off.

“Oh goodness, I didn't mean to startle you- here, take these,” the man said, grabbing a handful of cocktail napkins from the bar and thrusting them in her general direction. Darcy grabbed a couple of them, thankful he hadn't tried to assist in the drying process in a more hands on manner. Although after giving the man a good once over she had to admit she wouldn't necessarily be opposed to some more hands on activities if things managed to progress past this awkward and seemingly eternal libation spewing stage.

“I just- wow. I'm so sorry. I’m normally way smoother than this,” the man was as mortified as he was handsome so Darcy put on her benevolent hat and reached a hand out to him. Her took her hand with a relieved smile that she returned.

“Darcy Lewis. I got distracted by Jane’s speech and was pretty much just a spit take waiting to go off. You just happened to be the unfortunate straight man to set off the gag, so no worries.”

The man laughed deeply and Darcy took a moment to appreciate how nice his face looked all lit up and happy-like.

“Bruce Wayne. It's been quite some,time since anyone labeled me ‘unfortunate'.” 

Darcy instantly became aware that her hand was still held firmly in Bruce’s. She managed to cough uncomfortably despite the fact that her lungs suddenly forgot how to work.

“Yeah, I imagine actually having a literal fortune generally saved you from that one.”

Bruce chuckled loudly, drawing glares from the guests seated at a nearby table. He raised a placating hand in their direction, turning his back to the tables and stepping closer to Darcy to create a more private environment for their conversation. As Bruce shifted closer his jacket brushed against her arm, releasing a wave of cologne. 

The sudden shift in scents caused Darcy to pause. She knew that cologne. Thanks to a healthy dose of nepotism Darcy had been able to land a sales position at an upscale department store for the Holiday season during her undergrad years. She had been assigned to the fragrance counter and she worked her butt off to memorize the perfumes; the names, designers, ingredients, and what floral and spice notes they hit. 

This was Clive Christian’s Imperial Majesty; the most expensive fragrance they had offered. Darcy had never managed to sell one of the gold and diamond banded bottles herself, but myth and legend told of one sales clerk who regularly managed to hock the phials and retired at thirty-five off the commissions alone. 

If there were any lingering doubts that the man in front of her was actually Bruce Wayne they dissipated the instant Darcy got a whiff of that fragrance. 

“So tell me Darcy Lewis, what brings you out here tonight? The philanthropy or the astronomy,” Bruce questioned, his voice lowered to match the intimate setting and Darcy appreciated both the new pitch and the wonderful things it was doing to her insides. Tony claimed to a genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist but Darcy was going to make him cross that playboy thing off that list because he had nothing on Bruce Wayne’s A-game. He should also cross it of his list because he's in a committed relationship with a very nice lady, but her original point still stands. 

“It's not astronomy it's astrophysics,” Darcy replied automatically. She was so used to hearing Jane say that same line to smug Academics it rolled out of her mouth without her consent. She motioned to the stage where Jane was presenting “and the Astrophysicist brought me here.”

“So you work with Dr. Foster? That must be fascinating!”

“Well, I work for Dr. Foster. And her work is plenty interesting to the people who understand it, but I am not counted amongst their ranks.”

“So you aren't a scientist then.”

“Not a sciency scientist at least. I majored in Poli-Sci before the Gods went crazy and started spitting super heroes down to Earth. My life went sort of off track at that point and marching across a gym to Pomp and Circumstance fell pretty low on my priorities list.” 

Bruce nodded in understanding and seemed to be unconcerned with her lack of official credentials, which was honestly a refreshing change from how this scenario generally played out at fancy parties. Past occasions found Darcy playing the leper of high society, ostracized to the back of the room where she would slink off to get handy with a busboy when the opportunity presented itself. 

“I'm a firm believer in the notion that degrees are just one way of proving success. Some of the smartest people I know never went to college and paved their own way in life. Conversely, I've had the misfortune of meeting plenty of people with more doctorates than sense. You might be doing the actual science, but I bet you’re contributing a great deal to Dr. Foster’s research.”

Darcy was sold. Hell, she'd take five of him if she could. She had been receptive to his advances before but now it was time to get her flirt on. Or at least it would have been if a sudden spray of gunfire hadn't taken out a chandelier. 

The fuzziness she had been cultivating with bourbon and oxytocin was quickly brushed aside with the realization that she wasn't at home in New York, cradled safely in the bosom of Avengers territory. No, she was in Gotham. Murdertown USA. Slaughter City if you will, and there was a very real chance she would die before the city’s singular hero could swoop in to save the day. 

She swung her head back to Bruce only to catch a fleeting glimpse of his coat tails as he plowed his way through the service door behind the bar. 

Without her. 

“I take back all the nice things I thought about that man and his face.”

Darcy didn't have to wait long before one of the swarming gunmen forcefully directed her to the center of the room with the rest of the guests. She managed to end up next to Jane by tripping over her own feet and a couple of chairs and accidentally on purpose stumbling more to the right than her captor likely intended. 

It was a stupid chance to take but if she was going to die here she was going to do it next to someone she knew, dammit. Besides, she owed Jane a million and one “I told you so’s” and there was no time like the present to start doling those out.

\---------

So here Jane and Darcy sat, huddled under a damaged chandelier with a couple hundred people who looked way too used to this kind of thing. Their overall nonchalance really cemented in Darcy’s mind that coming to Gotham was one of the worst decisions of her adult life, including getting that Kermit the Frog tattoo and donating her Pillow Pet when she went away to college. 

Once their harlequin guard was out of earshot Darcy leaned her head on Jane’s shoulder for both a bit of moral support and to keep their conversation on the down low.

“Jane, I was right. I find no joy informing you about how horribly wrong you were. Partially because I'm sitting on some shards of chandelier, but mostly because this is the worst.”

Or it was the worst until ten feet of scaly, man eating, bipedal crocodile walked through the door. 

“Nope, never mind. This is the worst. Clown convicts and a Crocodile Man, just like I predicted. Oh geez, am I psychic? Did I trigger a latent X-Gene by eating too many bananas or something,” Darcy asked with a slight tinge of hysteria creeping into her voice.

“You're not a mutant. You would have to eat like, ten million bananas in one sitting for there to be enough radiation to do anything interesting. Besides, your prediction was only partially true. No way Killer Croc is Italian,” Jane soothed, running a gentle hand down the side of Darcy's head. 

“I think that might be racist, Jane. I'm pretty sure ‘Killer Croc’ isn't his actual name; for all we know he could be a Giuseppe or a Stefano,” Darcy said, squinting at the scaly figure in the distance. “No, I take that back. He looks more like an Antonio.”

Jane didn't say anything after that, which Darcy took as an indication that she agreed with her on the naming front. She tried to not feel overly smug about that, but she was tense and tired and those feelings magnified her tiny victories to a ridiculous scale. Those feelings also made her loses seem equally grandiose and she waffled back and forth between regretting not smooching on Bruce when she had the opportunity and wanting to work his mouth over with her fists instead. 

After the initial rush and bustle of being threatened and corralled had past the guests had been divested of their jewellery. This was a painful process for some but Jane didn't wear jewellery and Darcy didn't have too much of an issue handing over her matching bracelet and earring set from Target. Once they’d all been robbed good and proper the majority of the clowns left with Killer Croc and their valuables (and Darcy’s kitsch) and the hostages had been left to do what hostages do best, which is apparently wait. 

Darcy wasn't sure how long they'd been there, but one of the gentlemen behind her had been snoring for a decent spell and the remaining clown guards seemed like they were having a difficult time resisting the thrall of Mr. Sandman as well. Most of them had given up patrolling the hostages when it became obvious that none of them had heroic or sacrificial intentions and were perfectly happy sitting patiently and waiting for the situation to resolve naturally. 

One guard was so far gone he thought using the butt of his semi-automatic to prop up his elbow was a great life choice. Or maybe he failed the gun safety course at clown college. Whatever the reason just looking at his flagrant disregard for personal safety made Darcy’s teeth ache from biting back the urge to quote appropriate sections of the SHEILD field training handbook at him. 

Darcy wasn't an agent of SHIELD but she had lifted a handbook from a Probie who scoffed at the sweet Harry Potter mural she paid a friend to airbrush on the side of the van. The handbook had lived in Darcy’s purse until Jane had instituted a no technology in the bathroom rule after Darcy lost three cellphones in one week to shower karaoke. The manual was promoted to bathroom literature once she had memorized all the ingredients from the back of shampoo bottle and could recite them in alphabetical order. Jane claimed she could recite them in order by complexity of their covalent bonds. Darcy was skeptical of this but she didn't know enough science to dispute her claim. 

After a particularly bad stomach virus swept through the lab Darcy had memorized nearly all of the handbook verbatim and delighted pointing out dress code and protocol infractions to agents who made her fill out forms in triplicate. Which was pretty much all of them except for Coulson. He still made her fill out multiple forms but he always adhered to regulation so she didn't have anything to call him on. 

Seemingly out of nowhere a dark blur slashed across her vision and collided with the side of the rifle. Fortunately, the lights cut out at the moment of impact so Darcy only saw the flash of the muzzle and not a fountain of blood spurting from a clown. Unfortunately, Darcy had a very active imagination and her brain provided unwanted visuals to accompany the pained wailing of the injured harlequin. 

The clown’s cries were cut short by the telltale sound of a fist impacting flesh and the ‘thump' of a body collapsing to the floor. Before she met Natasha she wouldn't have been able to recognize either of these sounds, but nowadays she didn't have too much trouble following a fight she couldn't see by audio cues alone. 

Three more punches and a chokehold later the lights came on again to reveal the unsurprising sight of The Dark Knight himself standing over the unconscious bodies of their captors. The crowd of freed hostages surged around Darcy as they quickly made way towards the exit. Jane caught Darcy’s eye and bounced on her legs in the universal signal of ‘I have to pee’ before bounding off with the crowd to find a restroom. 

Being by herself after hours of being crammed together with a couple hundred other people was a jarring experience and Darcy found herself longing for the comforting proximity of another person. She wove herself around overturned tables and chairs and across the room to where Batman was crouched over one of the unconscious clowns.

It only took a moment for her to realize this was the guy who had been leaning on the gun and that the image her mind crafted in the dark wasn't too far off based on the amount of blood pooling on the floor. Batman had his hands pressing down on the bullet wound, doing his best to staunch the bleeding with the corner of his cape. Having spent a lot of time around superheroes she pretty much expected that tableaux, but she was shocked by how hard his hands were shaking and the panic in his eyes. 

Seeing Batman’s fear brought her resolve thundering to the surface as she dropped down to the ground next to him. Darcy found some discarded napkins on the floor behind her and quickly lashed them around the injured man’s thigh and tightened the ends of the tourniquet as tightly as she could. 

“Do you have a knife or something? I think we should cut open his pants leg to see what's going on here,” Darcy directed gently. Batman nodded stiffly and withdrew a batarang from his belt and made quick work of ripping the fabric apart with a razor sharp wing tip. 

With the dark fabric cut away and the tourniquet in place they were free to clearly examine the wound. Or wounds, since there was a very clear exit hole with blood sluggishly pumping out of the side of the leg.  
Darcy balled up more napkins and put pressure on it, and Batman returned to his precious post of tending to the entry wound. 

Darcy did her best to keep focused on her task, but her attention kept straying to the man beside her. His face, at least what she could see of it, was pale and clammy and his hands were still trembling. 

“Hey, he’s going to be fine. I won't lie, the wound is pretty deep, but it isn't bleeding that heavily anymore and he’s still breathing strong,” Darcy whispered gently. She didn't have the use of her hands, what with them providing valuable first aid and all that, so she did her best to offer comfort by pressing her arm up against his. Batman stiffened as their arms connected and just as she was about to withdraw back into her personal bubble, Darcy felt him sag into her. She buckled slightly at the unexpected force, but rallied to prop him up as best she could. 

“I...didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't want him to be hurt like this,” Batman said through trembling lips. “I only meant to throw him off balance not shoot him,” the last two words were spat out like a curse.

This was new territory for Darcy. She knew that the Avengers had breakdowns on occasion; how could you not when the future of humanity rested in your hands on a daily basis? But they all had people closer to them than Darcy to pick up the pieces; teammates or girlfriends who knew just what to do or say to make the world shift back into focus again.  
But Batman didn't have teammates. And maybe he had someone waiting at home, but Batman did rock the whole secret identity thing so maybe they didn't know what he got up to once he kissed the kids goodbye and drove off to work?

Darcy took a deep breath and pondered the mantra that helped her navigate difficult social scenarios: What Would Pepper Pots Do? She imagined herself in a pair of Louboutins with unscuffed soles and tried to project an aura of calm authority.

“Of course you didn't want this to happen, you’re a good guy. And I don't mean that because of all the crime fighting vigilante stuff, although those things are very good and you should totally keep doing them. I mean that you’re a good guy because you are obviously devastated by this, but still doing the right thing even though it's scary and hard and gross,” Darcy paused, taking a moment to catch her breath and focus on something that wasn't the feeling of blood seeping gently between her fingers. 

“I didn't want to come to Gotham. I would have paid real world money and all my Starbucks Loyalty Points to have gone literally anywhere else. And I have a terrible frappe addiction, so that offer is nothing to sneeze at. But despite all the psychopaths and murder this city is known for, seeing you care so much about someone who set out tonight with every intent to hurt you if the opportunity arose just- I’m glad I got to meet you,” Darcy murmured, peering out of the corner of her eye at Batman. His jaw was tightly clenched but his skin looked less grey and his hands steadier. 

“Thank you,” Batman replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Darcy pressed against his shoulder gently in acknowledgement, silence descending around them. 

\---------

The police had discovered them a short time later and the injured clown was loaded into an ambulance while his associates were handcuffed and piled into prison issue vans.  
One of the gumshoes assigned to the scene was taking her statement and Darcy kept her answers short and to the point. The poor woman looked slightly queasy at the sight of the blood covering Darcy’s arms and she wasn't mean enough to prolong the officer’s agony longer than she needed to. 

Darcy attempted to find Batman again to say goodbye but he was surrounded by a wall of men in off the rack suits, all of whom were busy jotting down notes in spiral notepads and smartphones. They were likely Detectives trying to get an account of what happened tonight, but they could have also easily been a roving gang of actuaries trying to figure out how to calculate the risk variables on a hostage situation. Did insurance even cover supervillains? Was it comprehensive or did you have to buy additional coverage for each villain individually? Darcy suddenly had so many questions about her coverage that Linda in HR would likely start blocking her emails. Again. 

She gave a casual wave and a hearty salute in the general direction of the Caped Crusader before ducking under a line of police tape stretched across the doorway. Halfway down the hallway she was nearly plowed over by a frantic Jane bodily hurling herself into Darcy’s arms.

“I'm so glad you’re alright! When I left the bathroom this place was swarming with cops and I couldn't find you and none of them would- WHY ARE YOU COVERED WITH BLOOD,” Jane wailed. 

“Don't worry, Boss Lady. It isn't my blood.”

“THAT STATEMENT ISN'T AS COMFORTING AS YOU LIKELY BELIEVE. OH, JESUS- DON'T TOUCH ME WITH YOUR CRUSTY BLOOD HAND!”

\---------

Once they reached their suite Jane was quick to retire to her room after ordering Darcy to keep her hands off of her stuff until she looked a little less like Lady Macbeth. Normally Darcy would take those to be fighting words and do the opposite of what Jane wanted her to, but the faint iron smell that clung to her was starting to make her stomach revolt. 

Darcy had held out hope that a warm shower would be relaxing and help lull her to sleep, but adrenalin was still pumping heavy through her veins as she dried her hair and shimmied into her pajamas. With nothing better to do she flipped on the TV to a 24 hour news channel and settled down onto the couch. 

She was hoping to catch some coverage of the evening’s events and wasn't disappointed. While it was relatively quiet where she and Jane were being held the same couldn't be said for the rest of the building. The entire scheme was perpetrated by a slew of villains working together to steal valuable magic items on display in the museum the lecture hall had been connected to. 

Fifteen members of “The Rouges Gallery” were identified and apprehended at the scene. Darcy recognized some of the mug shots flashing across the screen: the Joker, Penguin, Mad Hatter; but others were new and downright puzzling. Calendar Man? Crazy Quilt? The Calculator? She owed Scott a long apology for giving him so much flak over just being called Ant-Man. 

But bad evil monikers aside, fifteen villains plus henchmen was a lot of criminals to incapacitate and deal with alone. No wonder it took so long for Batman to get to them. It also explained how exhausted and shaken he was at the end of the night, he had pretty much run the superhero version of the Ninja Warrior gauntlet. 

The news anchor wrapped up their coverage and moved onto the next story; a fear mongering piece about what's really in store bought mustard that had Darcy rolling her eyes so hard that her pupils could scratch the back of her head. With an irritated groan she clicked the power button on the remote and wasn't at all prepared for a silhouetted figure to appear on the blackened screen.

Darcy tried to turn around and stand up at the same time but executed both motions poorly and the end result was much more spastic and arm flaily than she was proud of. She pressed a hand to her chest in an effort to calm her thundering heart and leveled an unamused look at Batman.

“Sweet sausage and pancake platter, you startled me!”

The mask and cowl didn't offer a lot in the way of facial emotes, but Darcy was pretty sure he felt bad about scaring her. And if he wasn't, he should be. She’d startled enough years off her life dodging space elves and keeping current on “The Walking Dead.”

She took a calming deep breath and walked around the couch to stand in front of him, craning her neck back to look him in the eye.  
“What are you even doing here? You’ve had a rough night. You should be home recuperating.”

“I wanted to make sure you got home safely. This is generally a safe part of the city, but it’s been an unusually busy night and I didn't want to leave anything to chance.”

“That’s really very sweet of you, but you need to take care of yourself first. You can’t pour from an empty cup, my man.”

“I’m fine,” Batman growled, seeming to take offense at the insinuation that he has basic human needs. 

“Uh-huh. Sure you are. I bet you haven't even sat down since you left the lecture hall,” Darcy said as she turned and walked towards the mini fridge near the bathroom. She pried open the door and pulled out four bottles of water and kicked the door closed with her heel. 

“In fact, I’d double down and say that you haven't had anything to drink either,” Darcy chided, offering a bottle of water towards her guest. Batman unscrewed the lid and quickly polished off the drink, and nodded a small thanks to Darcy as she pressed another full bottle into his open hand and grabbed the empty one from him. 

“Go have a seat on the couch. I don't have any real food to offer you, but I keep a good stock of Luna bars and fruit snacks in my purse.”

“I'll pass, but thank you. The water is more than enough,” Batman said, contemplating the seating situation before deciding on the leather lounge chair. He sunk down into the cushions with an audible groan and eyed the coffee table near his feet.

“Put your heels up; your poor feet were kicking butt all night. They’ve earned the right to rest,” Darcy urged as she curled up on the arm of the sofa closest to Batman. 

“My boots are pretty filthy. I would hate for the hotel to charge you for extra cleaning services.”

Darcy scoffed, “General Vreeland is paying for the room. And considering his rather tasteless comments about my décolletage earlier this evening I was already planning on leaving with enough bathrobes to cross pretty much everyone off my Christmas shopping list.”

Batman hummed thoughtfully for a moment before slowly scraping the soles of his boots on the edge of the coffee table and propping his feet up on the glossy oak top. 

“I have never cared for that man,” Batman explained, shrugging slightly and sipping his water. Darcy laughed and chucked one of the remaining bottles of water in his direction, which he effortlessly caught with one hand. 

“How often do you have to rescue people you don't like?”

“More often than I like. They seem to take for granted that I'll be there to stop something truly reprehensible from happening to them. I worry that one day I won't make it in time.”

“Have you thought about finding help? Meeting some super friends? Gotham is a huge city for you to patrol on your own. You can’t spit in New York without hitting three vigilantes and five teens with superpowers.”

“‘Super friends?” Batman questioned with a smirk while Darcy huffed.

“Super friends, battle buddies, power pals; whatever you want to call them! You’re focusing on the wrong thing here! Going out every night by yourself isn't safe. I'm going to be really worried about you unless someone has your back.”

The mood in the room suddenly switched from casual and playful to something much more intense. Darcy couldn't name what she was feeling, but Batman had turned his full attention onto her and her blood seemed to be humming in response. 

“You’ll be worried for me?” Batman asked softly. 

Darcy nodded firmly, “Of course I will. If living with terminally heroic has taught me anything it's that maintaining any sort of non work relationships is nearly impossible, so friends are in short supply. In a way you’re lucky to have met me; I'm pretty much an expert on befriending super heroes.”

“Well, I can't have you worrying. I'll see what I can do about finding a couple of combat compadres,” Batman smirked.

“Oooohhh, I like that one! Way better than ‘The Avengers!’ I keep wanting to call Black Widow ‘Emma Peel’ but I don't know how well that would go over,” Darcy giggled.

“Which Avenger would be Jonathan Steed in that scenario?”

“See, now that's a hard one. No one really matches personality wise, so I think it would come down to whoever looks the best in a bowler hat,” Darcy said with a grin. Against her will her smile evolved into a prolonged yawn she tried to hide behind her hand. Batman was at her side instantly, offering her a hand up off of the couch arm.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up so late. I should have left a while ago.”

Darcy waved off his apology, but accepted his hand up. “I'm glad you stayed. Your company is worth more than the extra shot of espresso it’ll take to get me through tomorrow.” 

She reluctantly slipped her hand from his and began rooting through her purse, letting out a triumphant cry when she located a business,card in the first pocket she checked. Suddenly slightly apprehensive, Darcy bit her lip as she extended the card in Batman’s direction.

“Here’s my contact info. In case you ever need to talk. Or want to talk. To me. Uhh, yes.”

To his credit, Batman didn't even hesitate as he took the card and began scanning the information. He looked up a moment later, clearly amused.

“This card says ‘Dr. Jane Foster, BAMF.’”

“It’s Jane’s name but the contact information is mine. I do all her scheduling so it made more sense for my info to be on there. Plus, Jane routinely harvests parts from her phone to build space machines so this way people can actually get in contact with her.”

Batman smiled and tucked the card into one of the seemingly hundreds of pockets on his belt. 

“I'll do my best to keep in touch, but my lifestyle and schedule are unpredictable.”

Feeling daring, Darcy stepped closer to Batman. She raised herself up onto her toes and positioned her mouth next to his ear, her voice soft as she spoke; “You know, if Batman is busy I wouldn't mind a call from Bruce Wayne.”

Batman’s head reeled back as his hands flew up to grasp Darcy’s forearms firmly. Moments passed slowly and heavily, his face still and unreadable.

“How?” Batman asked simply.

“If the point of a secret identity is for people to not be able to identify you, I would strongly suggest changing your cologne to something less distinctive. As a general rule of thumb I would say that if you can’t buy it on sale at Macy’s then you probably shouldn't wear it.”

Batman groaned deeply and released Darcy’s arms to run his hand down his face in exasperation. “Considering the crew you run with I feel it’s safe to assume you know how to keep a secret.”

Darcy raised her right hand in the three-fingered salute and placed her left hand over her heart. “On my honor as a three week Girl Scout veteran. I may have gotten kicked out but I take my oaths very seriously.”

“I'm not too surprised by that. You don't seem the sort to do well with rigid rules and structure.”

“Got it in one. Although you would think an organization built around the empowerment of girls wouldn’t freak out about a six year old’s cries to topple the Patriarchy, but there you go.”

Batman gave her one last smile before dramatically tossed his cape as he turned heel and lunged towards the balcony and over the railing. Darcy followed in his wake, leaning over the railing and frantically waving at the dark form gliding away into the night.

“CALL ME! OR TEXT! BUT PLEASE DON'T LEAVE A VOICEMAIL BECAUSE I HATE SEEING THAT ICON ON MY LOCK SCREEN!”

\--------

“I would like to take a moment to personally thank each and every one of you for being here today. It seems that heroes are needed now more than ever, and when a call for help sounded out you all rose to fight for truth, honor, and justice,” Superman said as he glanced around the table at the men and women who had assembled there. 

“Learning to work together will be paramount to our success. We need a name that defines us as a team and lets people know who we are and what we stand for. I put out an open invitation for you all to submit names and we have now all voted. The results have been tallied and we shall henceforth be known as ‘The Justice League.’”

“Oh, thank God,” The Flash sighed. “I was really worried we would end up being ‘The Super Friends.’”

Cyborg raised his eyebrow in Flash’s direction. “Really? I was way more concerned with being a ‘Combat Compadre.’”

“That’s enough, everyone. Names were submitted anonymously, but these were ideas submitted by your teammates. Let’s not start this alliance off by tearing apart each other’s ideas,” Superman interjected. Quiet discussions broke out amongst the table while Batman deftly pulled his phone out and began texting under the table.

\--------

“They went with ‘The Justice League’,” the text read. Darcy rolled her eyes and made a small sound of disgust before quickly punching back her response:

“Uggghhh, so lame! I can’t believe they passed on all of our ideas!”

“They just don’t know a good idea when they see it.”

“Well it’s a good thing they have you on their team then.”

There was a brief pause in the flow of their text conversation and Darcy was getting ready to put away her phone when her notification alarm went off. 

“And it’s a good thing I have you.” 

\--------

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is. My first foray back into fanfiction writing since I was in high school. I was inspired to jump back in thanks to all the wonderful people in the Darcyland community, and in particularly by Dresupi and bloomsoftly (who don’t know me but I follow their Tumblr accounts and find them to be very kind and encouraging). 
> 
> This is likely to be the first entry of a series of Darcy stories based on famous movie and book quotes that I try to imagine scenarios for Darcy using. 
> 
> I write mostly on my phone while I’m rocking my daughter to sleep, so I’m sure that errors exist but I’m not concerned with them. 
> 
> I’m on Tumblr as coopigeoncoo , so come say hey!


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